


Just Another Day

by zillah1199



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II
Genre: Humour, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-17
Updated: 2014-04-17
Packaged: 2018-01-19 16:44:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 889
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1476823
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zillah1199/pseuds/zillah1199





	Just Another Day

It was one of those days. Fighting, bleeding, attacked by everything in a five-mile radius, and herded by demons into a room that had only one exit. An exit now blocked by a supernatural barrier. The entire party, was tired, hungry, wounded and irritable. It was Tuesday. 

A small pedestal stood in the center of the room. Everyone shouted not to touch it, except for Carver, who, naturally, touched it. A disembodied voice, strangely inhuman, filled the air. 

“You have entered the Trope Trap. Please select an option.” A handful of small parchment strips appeared in the center of the pedestal. Carver, because he was Carver, and it was Tuesday, and that was just the kind of thing that always seemed to happen, picked up one of the strips. Everyone groaned, because, really, he should have known better. 

And of course, it turned out he'd actually chosen two strips, stuck together. It was one of those days. He started to read them, only to have the disembodied voice override him.

“You haven chosen option three. Sex pollen.” A pause. “You have chosen option eleven. Hate Sex.” The pedestal disappeared while the party stood there, staring dumbly at nothing. A sudden whooshing noise, and the air briefly filled with a fine powder that smelled oddly of mayonnaise. There was quite a bit of coughing, and dusting of clothing. Fenris sneezed, spraying directly into the pauldrons of Anders' coat.

The mage sneered. “Oh, thanks for that, elf.” 

Fenris returned Anders' look of disgust. “Do not blame me. Perhaps if your pet demon had done a better job repelling his fellows, we would not be trapped in this room, covered in Maker knows what.”

“Justice is not a demon, I've told you...”

“Yes, you've told me, but I have yet to see much difference between a demon and your so-called spirit.”

“I'm surprised you can see anything past that giant chip of bigotry you carry around on your shoulder.”

“You are one to speak, you...” Fenris never got to finish the sentence, as Anders shoved him up against a wall and began snogging him. Fenris lit up brilliant blue at the affront, but rather than plunging his fist into Anders's chest, which was really what everyone was expecting, he somehow managed to phase the two of them right out of their clothes, and knock Anders to the ground, where they proceeded to grind into one another ferociously. 

Isabela was delighted. “Is it my name day? Because this is one of the best presents I've ever gotten. Do you think they'd let me join in?”

“Of course you'd say that, whore.” Aveline snorted in disgust.

“Prude.”

“Slattern.”

“Prig.”

“Trollommnph.” The remainder of her insult was lost in the depths of Isabela's magnificent cleavage, as the women simultaneously surged forwards into a kiss. Or what would have been a kiss, except that Isabela's surge included a bit of overenthusiastic leaping, and rather missed the mark. It didn't seem to be an impediment, however, as the two were soon rolling around on the floor, rapidly divesting each other of both clothing and inhibitions. Mostly Aveline's, as Isabela tended to be a bit light on such things.

Carver gawked, Varric chuckled and Garrett scratched his head. “Well that's just great. Way to go Carver.”

“Me? You're the bloody idiot who dragged us out today.” 

“Yes, well, _I'm_ not the one who had to go touching things.”

“No, you're just the rogue who can't find a trap until _after_ it's sprung.”

Right up in each other's faces, like stags locking horns, snarling and spitting. Carver, by virtue of superior height and strength, forced his brother back into the wall until they were nose to nose, chest to chest, thigh to thigh and...

Oh. 

Oh!

Horrified, they sprung apart, both trying desperately to pretend they weren't achingly hard. That they hadn't been about to...

Oh, Maker.

Garrett turned to the wall and breathed deeply. He and...Carver. He'd...they'd...almost. He shivered in horror. Carver. Dammit. Why did he have to be so aggravating. So infuriating. So, so. Shit. He was hard again. No choice then, but to jerk off, furiously, furtively, angry at Carver, angry at himself. 

Fuck. Hard again.

Some time later, he turned away from the wall, equal parts shame, disgust and confusion mingling with a weird sense of relief, and that was something he was definitely not going to consider in greater depth later. Or ever, really.

Meanwhile, Carver, Aveline and Isabela had gotten themselves into a three-way tangle of arms and legs and other appendages that Garrett probably could have gone his whole life without ever seeing. Aveline's armour certainly hid an impressive array of...muscles.

Garrett slid down the wall to sit next to Varric. They sat in silence for a few minutes, Varric scribbling away onto a spare parchment.

“So,”

“Yeah, Hawke?”

“You're just sitting here. Still dressed. Writing.”

“You know me, Hawke, I get along with everyone.”

Garrett chuckled, turning back to the erotic carnage happening in front of them.

“That elf sure is...”

“Bendy.”

“Very bendy.” Varric scraped some of the powder from the floor and very carefully folded it up into his parchment.

“What's that for?”

“Don't you have to meet up with Orsino and Meredith when we get back?”

Garrett grinned like a maniac. He loved Tuesdays.


End file.
